


quicksand (you're gonna suffer if you don't start breathing)

by misura



Category: Ant-Man (Movies)
Genre: Everyone Thinks They're Together, M/M, Minor Hank Pym/Janet Van Dyne, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:25:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7449565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank has a cunning plan. (Several, actually.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	quicksand (you're gonna suffer if you don't start breathing)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoreyG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/gifts).



Scott reacted about as well as Hank had planned for, which was satisfactory, if perhaps a trifle disappointing. For once in his life, Hank thought that he might have enjoyed someone surprising him for the better, rather than the worse - the way Hope had, when she'd shown up on his doorstep that first time, after almost a dozen years.

Of course, a Master's Degree in Electrical Engineering didn't necessarily signify any great degree of intelligence.

"You - " Scott said.

"Yes," Hank said, playing back the rest of the conversation in his mind.

"You're kidding, right?"

Predictable in the extreme, but (he reminded himself) Hank had worked with worse. Besides, Scott was okay, really. Basically a normal human being. "Does this look like my 'just kidding' face?"

"Well, you're - " Scott shrugged.

"I'm what?"

"Not really a joking kind of guy?" Scott suggested. "So I'm sorry, but I really don't think that I know whether or not that's your 'just kidding, Scott' face. Because, I mean, let's be serious, when you say 'let's put together a team to get into places and steal shit', that kind of sounds like you're making a joke. Not funny, by the way."

Hank sighed. "Actually, what I said was, 'let's put together a team to get into places that need getting into and steal shit that needs getting stolen'. I was proposing we do something _good_ , not undertake some illegal, criminal enterprise."

"Excuse me, but I'm pretty sure - "

"You have to look at the big picture, Scott," Hank said.

"Was that a pun?" Scott asked. "Because, you know." He gestured. "Ant-Man. Big. Small."

On second thought, Hank decided he'd definitely miscalculated how long this would take. "I know that you're Ant-Man, Scott." He tried to sound patient, understanding.

"You do? Damn." Scott grinned.

"So do those three idiots you call your friends." Baby steps, Hank reminded himself. Baby steps. You can't put a camera on an ant, but you can make him put one on himself. There's no such thing as 'impossible'; there's just problems that require a different viewing angle.

"They _are_ my friends," Scott said. "Well, Luis is, anyway. Don't really know Dave or that other guy all that well, but, you know."

"You steal shit together, you stick together?"

Scott grimaced. "Something like that."

"So." Hank realized that he was going to have to spell it out after all. "Next job they pull, or the one after that, they get caught. What do you think's going to happen then?"

"Maybe they don't - " Scott started, then shut his mouth. If he'd been an ant, Hank would have tickled Scott's olfactory nerves; as it was, he merely waited. "So we're not _actually_ going to steal anything, right? That's what you're saying?"

Some days, Hank wondered why he bothered to even _try_ to communicate with human beings other than Hope. Sure, there'd been Janet (might, one day, again be Janet, although he wouldn't allow himself to think of that), but there'd also been Darren.

Ants were so much more convenient. Efficient. "I'm a rich guy, Scott. Know how I got that way?"

"By being really, really smart?"

Hank gave up. "Just bring them by, will you? I'll explain everything to them. It'll be quicker."

 

Of course, he couldn't entirely discount the nagging feeling that he might be making the same mistakes he'd made with Janet. There were differences - obviously there were differences, but it was hard to play back Scott's fight with Darren and not see the similarities, to see in Scott the same kind of reckless, self-sacrificing courage that had led Janet to do what she had done.

Scott, like Janet, had gone subatomic. Scott, unlike Janet, had been warned against doing so.

And Scott, also unlike Janet, had made it back. A less rational, less emotionally stable man might have resented him for that, Hank thought. It certainly wasn't anything _admirable_. Nothing about Scott's actions provided any kind of basis for Hank to feel this ... protective.

He'd needed a guy for a job; he'd gotten one. Like renting a carpenter for a bit of carpenting, or a plumber to fix the plumbing. Once the job was done, you didn't invite people like that to stay: you paid them, you thanked them for their time and expertise, and you sent them on their way.

Unless, apparently, their name was Scott Lang.

 

"Job," Wombat Number One said, "is not _job_ , see?"

Scott cleared his throat. "I think what Kurt means is - "

"I think I know what Kurt means," Hank said, cutting him off. He'd tried telling himself that he didn't actually want this, that his life would be much more comfortable and easy when it was just him by himself, with Hope and Scott dropping by every once in a while, and an empty safe in the basement.

"We're rebels, dawg - I mean, Mr Pym. Sir," Luis said. "Outlaws."

Scott opened his mouth again. In hindsight, Hank decided he should have held this meeting without Scott - just him and the three stooges. True, rich people didn't stay rich by spending money for nothing, but, well, Hank was _very_ rich. He could afford paying three crooks an extraordinary amount of money to stay out of trouble.

"What do you want me to, braid my hair into a couple of buns?" he asked. "Wear a golden bikini?"

Scott produced a sound that was rather unflattering, if also mostly appropriate.

"I thought that was really super superfluous," Luis said. "I mean, you got this girl, right, and she's crazy super fine and badass and a princess and she shoots people, and I'm like, yo, man, why you gotta be like that, know what I'm saying? Why you gotta put something that's probably really uncomfortable and chafing on my girl like that? And chains and shit?"

"Chains good for strangling fat guy," Kurt said. "Not so good otherwise."

"And, I mean, you want to get freaky, you get freaky. It's all good, yeah? But you gotta have consent. You gotta have fun with it."

Kurt nodded. "Fun very important. No fun, no good."

"Guys," Scott said. "Look, I think we're getting a bit side-tracked here."

"We're talking about _Star Wars_ , Scott," Hank said. He was, mostly, enjoying himself. People who were talking about movies were people who had not yet walked out of the room after refusing the offer you'd just made them. "Feel free to make a contribution, if you have one."

Luis said, "Ooh," and made a face. Scott blinked.

"Maybe he hasn't seen it," Dave said.

"Of course I've seen _Star Wars_ ," Scott said. "It was okay. A little unrealistic, maybe."

"What we talking about here, Scotty? Prequel, sequel, original trilogy?"

"What we're talking about is you guys joining The Avengers," Scott said. "Except not really."

"More like, Pym's Avengers," Luis said.

"Pym's Five?" Kurt suggested.

"And what I meant by joining The Avengers was, obviously, _not_ joining The Avengers."

If nothing else, Hank supposed he had to give Stark and his friends credit for coming up with a name that was memorable, if a trifle high-minded. It smacked of earnesty and melodrama at the same time.

"Well, Scotty, I mean, we've got mad skills, but we're not superheroes, know what I'm saying? More, like, crazy stupid good, but, like, on a human level?"

"Good teamwork," Kurt said.

"Exactly," Hank said smoothly, "and everybody knows you should never break up a winning team. So what do you say, gentlemen? Would you like to get paid a shitload of money to help make the world a safer, better place?" He had them, and he knew it.

Scott scowled at him. Scott was a bit of a sore loser sometimes. Never mind; Hank would smooth out his ruffled feathers later, when it was just the two of them and a nice bottle of wine, perhaps, something old and expensive, to celebrate.

"What the heck, I'm in," Dave said.

"In, also." Two down, one to go.

"Luis?" Scott asked. "Come on, man. I mean, someone's gotta do the smart thing here."

Hank wasn't as good at reading people as he was at reading - well, nearly anything else, but he was pretty sure Luis wasn't going to be the one to turn this thing around. He _might_ \- which was to say: he had the power. The potential. Hank was pretty sure he wouldn't do it, though. Too ... nice, for lack of a better word. Not willing to be contrary simply because it might be smarter.

"Look, obviously, you and my boy Hank here, you've got some trouble, yeah? Some past relationships, maybe, trust issues, compatibility, that sort of thing. But I think you just gotta communicate, yeah? I mean, it's good, right? You and him. Good talks, about engineering and science and shit. Good sex, too - I mean, you gotta hang in there, Scotty. You'll see, it's all going to be just fine."

Scott turned a mildly entertaining shade of red.

Hank weighed the pros and cons of correcting this ... interesting, if slightly absurd misinterpretation of his and Scott's relationship (query: did he want to have sex with Scott Lang?, return: well, yes, probably, if it was on offer and wouldn't unnecessarily complicate things or alienate Hope or weaken his position).

"Excellent." (Query: was he, like Scott, full of shit? Return: well, obviously.)

"We're not - " Scott gestured. It was a bit flaily and about as clear as mud.

"You're not what, Scotty?" Luis asked.

"Avengers," Kurt said. "Is fine. Girlfriend not kidnapped or infected by crazy goo."

Dave frowned. "When did _that_ happen?"

"I'm not sleeping with Hank," Scott said.

Really, Hank mused, the way the three of them stared at him was ... something or another. Not having much in the way of information on Scott's previous romantic partners, it was hard to tell.

"We're just not ... that kind of friends, okay? It's platonic," Scott said. He sounded like he felt he was digging himself in deeper, which made little sense. "We're platonic friends."

"Like, he wants to, and you want to, but you don't know nothing and he doesn't know nothing?" Luis asked. "Or, like, you're not sleeping together yet, 'cause you got crazy mad respect for each other so you gonna wait till you're married? 'cause you know I got mad respect for that kind of shit, Scotty, Mr Pym. Sir."

"I thought I was 'your boy Hank'," Hank said. He decided that he felt amused. This was an amusing situation, after all, and Scott clearly had the embarrassment aspect already fully covered.

"Yeah but that's like, your regular name. I want to make up this name for you, but it's gotta be special, right? It's gotta pop. Plus, you're rich, and I got mad respect for rich people," Luis said.

"Which you express by - "

"People!" Scott said, rudely cutting him off.

"Wedding would be nice," Kurt said. "Big party. Much drink."

"My money'd be on mutual pining," Dave said. "I mean, look at 'em."

Hank decided that enough was enough; everyone'd had their fun, and now it was time to get back to work (in his case) or to leave (in their case). "Sorry to burst your bubble, folks. As Scott said, he and I are just friends, that's all. I'm sure that he respects me and, in his better moments, I fully return the feeling, but there is nothing between us beyond that."

" _Thank you_ ," Scott said.

Hank smirked. "Any time."

Really, he thought, walking back to the lab, he almost couldn't have planned it better himself - which he had, of course; no point in leaving the outcome of such an important meeting to chance, after all: that way, potential failure lay, and besides, better the wombats you already knew than a bunch of strangers with nothing to recommend them but their files.

Luis had gone off-script, as expected, but it hadn't made much of a difference. Hank had been careful in what he'd put in the grapevine, and he fancied that he was rather getting to know the three of them and their little quirks. Police files only ever told you a small part of the story, true. Still, there were a whole lot of other files out there, and, naturally, there was also the part where he'd been spending a bit more time with the persons themselves. It all added up.

 

"I heard the most interesting rumor today," Hope told him over dinner.

The food was heavily overpriced and terrible, which was fair enough, Hank supposed. People didn't come here to enjoy the food; they came here to be seen. To show off how important they were.

He wondered, briefly, what Hope was trying to tell him by inviting him here.

"Stark and Captain America finally broke up? Can't say I find that surprising - or particularly interesting." He'd never really bought into the whole Captain America thing, of course. Hank'd been part of a propaganda machine himself; he knew what it was like.

Still, he'd hoped. He _had_ been where Cap had been, after all; he knew damn well that it wasn't all smoke and mirrors, tall tales to astonish the ignorant masses.

"Well," Hope said, " _someone_ 's got superhero romances on the brain. I was referring to you and Scott, actually."

Hope was definitely not connected to Luis's grapevine in any way. She moved in wholly different circles. "What about me and Scott?"

Hope sipped her wine, which was almost as good as the price warranted. "I'm okay with it."

"You're not okay with it," Hank said. "You feel as if I'm betraying your mother, as if I'm cheating on her with another woman, who happens to be a guy."

"Is that what it feels like to you?"

"Sometimes," Hank said. It was one of the things that had led him to decide to go slow, to make sure that he was in control of the process at all times. Whatever was going to happen between him and Scott, it was going to be planned and it was going to be controlled. Nothing rushed or spontaneous.

Nothing that would make him ashamed of the man staring back at him from the bathroom mirror.

" 'Another woman, who happens to be a guy'?"

"So I'm a little old-fashioned." Hank smiled. "I grew up in another millennium, and I loved your mother very much. If she came back right now and I had to choose, I'd choose _her_ , not Scott."

"You'd choose both, and try to figure out a way to keep one of them on the side," Hope said. "Probably Scott. He can be a bit of a push-over."

"Scott's a nice guy."

"Too good for you, huh?" Hope said. "Good thing, I guess, that people don't always get what they deserve. Though I suppose Darren did, in the end."

"Thanks, Hope."

She shook her head. "What else are estranged daughters for? Just finish the Wasp suit, and I promise I'll try and keep your boyfriend out of trouble. Or, well, safe. Mostly safe."

 

"So," Scott said. "There's you, sitting, and there's me, also sitting. Why am I feeling awkward?"

Hank was trying to read - some article Stark Junior had published ten years ago. It made for surprisingly good reading; a little uninspired, perhaps, but not bad, by any means, and every once in a while, Hank caught a glimpse of what might have been a genuinely original idea at the time.

Scott had been watching TV, some sit-com, or perhaps a police procedural. Hank had tuned it out.

"I don't know, Scott."

"Ha," said Scott. "There's something you don't hear every day."

"Maybe it's your shirt."

Scott glanced down at his shirt. "This is a great shirt. Cassie loves this shirt."

"It has food stains on it," Hank said. "Want to put it in the washing machine? It's right down the hall."

"Okay," Scott said, "so part of me wants to stand up and accuse you right here, right now, of being willing to say just about anything to get my shirt off, but then another part of me - the part I like to call 'Sensible Scott' thinks that joke would be totally inappropriate, given that you're kind of my boss and everything, and yeah, _definitely_ feeling awkward now. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"I should go home," Scott said, not getting up.

"If you have a washing machine at your home, absolutely." The article took a leap of logic that was more like an uncontrolled drop down a cliff; Hank couldn't see how anyone would be able to follow it, let alone assume the guy who'd written it was any kind of genius. The fact that he happened to be right was irrelevant; it was sloppy and galling and poor science. "Look, Scott - I made a pass, you turned me down, it's fine. These things happen. There's no need to make a big deal out of it."

"I - " Scott said. "You - _when_ did that happen? Was I awake at the time?"

"To start with your last question: you probably were," Hank said. "As to your first one - let's say, oh, ten seconds from now." He considered cuing the ants to provide a visual countdown, but they were feeling a bit sluggish, or maybe he was - the difference should be clear, and was so, most of the time.

Scott stared at him.

"Tick, tock," Hank said. He decided with some relief that it had been the ants; he felt fine himself. Up for anything Scott might be interested in doing - up to and including taking himself to the lab to work some more on Hope's suit, if Scott would opt for a quick retreat.

"You know that's a pop song by a woman who spells her name with, like, a dollar sign or something, right?" Scott asked. "I mean, I'm not sure if that's the reference you're going for here, or if you just didn't know, being kind of old and everything, but I'm just saying."

"I know it's _also_ a song, Scott." Well, he would have, if he'd wasted the time to look it up.

"All right," Scott said. "Just checking. I mean, it's been a while, you know. You don't really get to practice your relationship skills when you're in prison - well, I made some good friends there, but that's different, you know. It's not a sex type of relationship. Not romantic."

"Should I show up on your front lawn with a boombox?" Hank asked.

"I don't think I even _have_ a front lawn," Scott said, and then he frowned. "You have a boombox around this place somewhere?"

"Probably." Hank was sure that he had the material and know-how required to build a reasonable approximation of one, anyway. It wasn't exactly rocket science.

Scott got up. "Okay, fine. So here's what's going to happen. I'm going to take off my shirt, I'm going to walk out that door over there, and I'm going to put it in your washing machine. When I get back, we're going to have a normal, honest, adult conversation about this - this. All right?"

"All right," Hank said. "Or, and this is merely a suggestion, mind, you could save some water by just tossing the shirt in the laundry basket, and you could put on one of mine for the time being." Scott looked skeptical. "I may have one or two that might fit."

"Easily distracted by my hot bod, huh?" Scott asked. "Who would have guessed?"

"Anyone but you, apparently," Hank said. "Don't get cocky, Scott."

"Me? Never."


End file.
